


Wasteful

by AngelsInTheSand



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Multi, Referenced Death, Referenced Overdose, Referenced Sex, Referenced murder, Referenced od, Vomit, referenced death by neglect, referenced oral sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsInTheSand/pseuds/AngelsInTheSand
Summary: Bubba Zanetti likes to keep a schedule.His schedule revolves around Johnny.
Relationships: Johnny The Boy/Bubba Zanetti, Johnny The Boy/Toecutter
Kudos: 5





	Wasteful

There’s no way around it. No way to dance around what he means. Bubba hates The Boy. Hates him. He’s laying there in the sand, hungover and half-dressed, wrapped up in a towel like it’s a blanket. His mouth is drooped open, and he snores in the mid-morning light. His brunette hair must be itchy with sand, and curly from the ocean. And he hates The Boy. Bubba hates The Boy.

What a stupid name for the lad. The Boy. Johnny The Boy. He’s as much a boy as Bubba is thrilled to be watching over him, which is to say, not at all.

His instructions always revolve around Johnny. Watch Johnny. Make sure Johnny doesn’t get into trouble. Retrieve The Boy. He remembers the days before Johnny. Days of productivity. Days long gone. Now are the days of waiting for The Boy to wake up so Bubba can teach him the ropes. Wasted mornings, and frankly, wasted evenings.

The tide rolls up the sand and threatens to lap at Johnny’s arm as it lays extended at his side. And for a moment, Bubba considers rolling him once towards the ocean. Johnny is still out of it. If water washed over him, chances are he wouldn’t even bother getting up.

It would be so easy then to just lie. _Drowned_ , he’d tell his boss. _The tide came up while my back was turned. What a tragedy. What a shame he never learned how to hold his breath._

The Toecutter would mourn The Boy for a few days, reminiscing on the days of fucking Johnny’s mouth and getting him high, and then he’d move on. He’d find a new toy. One that wasn’t quite as annoying, Bubba hoped.

Now the waves washed up over Johnny’s head, drenching him in salt water. And just as Bubba thought, all The Boy did was lightly flicker his eyes, pupils still dilated, and spit out a small mouthful of water. Bubba considered going on a walk up the beach, letting nature run its course, and returning to solitude and a special brand of annoyance long gone. Another wave crashed over The Boy’s head, and Bubba knew he just didn’t have that cruelty in him today.

He grabbed The Boy like a sack of laundry, hauling him over his shoulder and carrying him several feet up the beach. Bubba let Johnny fall off his shoulder into the sand, much softer and more unpacked than the sand below. Johnny hits the ground and curls up again, sopping wet and still trying to sleep.

Bubba kneels down, using a thumb and index finger to force an eyelid open. Johnny’s eyelashes are decorated with sand particles, and his pupils are still blown wide. He must’ve been partying long after Bubba had retired for the night.

Bubba removes his fingers and the eyelid shuts, and Johnny is still in the sand, completely wiped out. Bubba looks at the sun, now rising higher and higher, and realizes nothing productive will be accomplished today.

He silently wishes someone else would be charged with minding Johnny for once. But something in him knows he’s the only one fully equipped for the job. He’s the only one with enough patience to sit here and watch Johnny lay in the sand for half a day. Johnny has been lying here, perfectly still, for several minutes.

Bubba presses two fingers to The Boy’s neck and feels a pulse. Johnny isn’t dead, but he’s doing an excellent job playing the part.

Maybe if he OD’d right here in the sand, Bubba would have no guilt on his conscious. Bubba has no guilt about anything, hasn’t for some time. But he’s been instructed to look after The Boy, and so he does. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do, it’s disappoint Toecutter.

He truly respects the man, even if his choices of lovers aren’t always the best. Before Johnny, it was some other smooth-faced, tough-talking youth that met his end because he didn’t believe tough guys wore helmets. And before him, it was some young woman that wore sundresses and had an affinity for motorcycles. Bubba suspects she wasn’t in it for Toecutter, because she ran away with some other bikie, a tough-talking woman on a Cb750, shortly into their relationship.

On and on the list went, partner after partner came and went at their own pace. Toecutter was over them almost as soon as they left. New partners are plentiful when you see one you want and decide they’re yours. Bubba knew what the partners saw in Toecutter. More than once, he’s been the subject of Toecutter’s lust. His boss is a generous lover, and it’s obvious why someone partners left and came back within a week like a lost dog.

Johnny stirred now, and Bubba stared down at him as his eyes opened. Pupils finally had started to tighten back to their normal size. Johnny blinked away the light, using an arm to defend his eyes from the brightness of the sun.

Bubba stood, strutted over to his bike, and retrieved a jug of water. He brought it back to Johnny, and The Boy greedily sucked the water down, eager to end his hangover. Eager to drink all of Bubba’s water.

He hated The Boy. Johnny the new lover. Johnny the waste of space, time, energy, and supplies. Johnny The Boy.

Now Johnny was finished drinking. Only a quarter of the jug’s contents remained, and some of it ran down his chin in greedy streams. Wasteful.

Bubba nudged The Boy with the tip of his boot, rousing him up from his bed. Precious daylight had already been wasted by simply waiting. He wasn’t about to waste anymore. The Boy sat there a minute longer as Bubba glared down upon him like an angry god, and finally, begrudgingly, The Boy stood.

They strode to their bikes, and Bubba mentally planned how the day would proceed. They would find the rest of the gang, first and foremost. They would then-

Bubba turned, watching as Johnny leant over, hands on his knees, as he vomited water across the sand. He stood there, still leant over, spitting and groaning sickly, weakly.

And Bubba knew the day was a complete loss. The rest of the day would be spent coddling and caring for the boy, feeding him water. And when Toecutter returned, he would stroke his hair like a cat and sing him sweet praises because he was Johnny The Boy. And Johnny The Boy is still new. And Johnny The Boy doesn’t know his limits.

And he hates The Boy.


End file.
